


The Noble Youth of Madness

by deargodwhatisthatthing



Category: Gintama
Genre: Angry Kissing, Angry Sex, M/M, Zura on top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 15:06:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8583022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deargodwhatisthatthing/pseuds/deargodwhatisthatthing
Summary: He's always like this after they lose people.





	

He’s always like this after they lose people. The back of Takasugi’s head hits the floor and he snarls but Katsura has already pressed their lips together, his tongue forcing an entrance, his hair loose and falling about their faces. His hands clamp Takasugi’s wrists into the grass and earth and his full weight presses the shorter man into the wet ground, their hips grinding together. Takasugi tastes blood and realises that one of them is bleeding, but he’s not sure who – he’s not even sure if it’s from the battle or from their bared teeth now. He registers that Katsura is pulling at clothing and reaches down to tug at his belt but is slapped away, as he knew he would be – everytime Katsura’s long battle-scarred palms squeeze at his flesh, every second his fingers search and push and pull, he’s seeking assurance that Takasugi is still there, still whole. 

Katsura shifts his weight and braces his knee at the base of Takasugi’s back - with one economical movement, Takasugi feels himself flipped over. A ripple of surprise runs through him (they must have lost a lot of people today) together with a spike of irritation – he struggles to get to his knees, and then Katsura is already there and his face is being pressed into the grass as the hands on his hips grip him tighter.

He says to himself that on days like today he lets Zura have the upper hand, but in truth he’s not sure he could stop him if he wanted to. Not that he wants to. Normal everyday Katsura, who is tender and trembling, sweet and yielding – that Katsura is the one he can have any day. But Katsura after they lose someone is another animal entirely. The Rampaging Noble, they call him, the Noble Youth of Madness – but they haven’t seen him the way Takasugi has: silent and savage, his face darkened by the shadow that draws across him, the anguish that galvanises that spare frame, electrifying and brutalising that sweet shy man into someone he doesn’t even recognise. Takasugi has always thought that Katsura in battle was a beautiful thing, unleashed by the fight, his footwork flawless, his every movement a study in devastating precision. And on days like these, he can’t shake the battle off, it comes back with him in his head and his heart and the lean taut fibre of his muscles. Takasugi can feel it sheer through him with every hoarse ragged breath Katsura takes. With every relentless beat, Takasugi can feel the frustration, the pent-up rage, the overwhelming terror that floods in, everytime their number diminishes by one or two or ten or fifty. 

At such a frenzied pace, things are over quickly - Takasugi writhes, his face in the grass and his hands clenching in the mud, and he hears Katsura give one quiet gasp a few seconds later jolting a few times before becoming still, the warmth inside shuddering out like his breath; Takasugi feels him rock back on to his heels. He rolls and glances behind him – Katsura’s face is tipped up to the sky, and he looks suddenly every bit as young as he is – a youth, barely more than a boy, his clothes stiff with blood and the rain beginning to make tracks in the mud on his face. Except it’s not raining. 

He wonders if it is unkind to take such satisfaction in seeing Katsura this way. It doesn’t feel unkind. Takasugi has long taken refuge in his own anger - he takes sustenance from it when they haven’t eaten for days, his fury becoming the breath in his lungs long after hope has ghosted out into the night. Anger has kept him alive when he had no other reserves to draw upon. 

Katsura is motionless now, silent – his presence is almost a vacuum, his eyes hollow, desolate. Takasugi knows that feeling too. Anger takes its payment from you, one way or another. But anger will keep Katsura alive – and that’s all that matters right now.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this is so terrible! Writing sex is ridiculously hard and there are so many on here that do it better than I do... but I just wanted to see if I could write Zura on top, so I spat this out this super-fast and didn't really edit it - I hope it's not too OOC. It's not in my head - Katsura has always had his silly moments, his gentle moments and then moments when he's just a fucking beast - and it makes sense to me that all that death during the war would hit him hard. 
> 
> Comments would be awesome.


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